


The Nice and Accurate Teenage Rom-Com Of Janthony Crowley and Aziraphale Fell

by basildeservedbetter



Series: Ineffable Crushes [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Drama Queen (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley learned love from romcoms, Cute Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emo Crowley (Good Omens), Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Self Confidence Issues, ineffable boyfriends, like a lot of it, like when he isn't cute yeah, overusing of the word "idiot"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 01:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basildeservedbetter/pseuds/basildeservedbetter
Summary: There were usually three ways Crowley felt about things.He hated a lot of things. Like annoying people. Fake plants. Spotify-advertisements. He also hated mice, shampoos that did absolutely nothing to his hair and P.E. class in general.Then there were the things he loved. Or liked. Or felt a tiny bit of sympathy for. Queen. Uncomfortably tight jeans and wearing sunglasses with no reason (it’s a fact that wearing sunglasses only means pure joy if you wear them a., on a particularly dark day, b., in a building.) He also liked skinny black cats that walked to the streets out of nowhere, eyeliners, long-lasting black nail polish and any kind of alcohol.With the other things, he was fine with, which in Crowley’s Dictionary meant he didn’t give a fuck about the existence of them. This system worked perfectly since he was born.Until he met Aziraphale.





	The Nice and Accurate Teenage Rom-Com Of Janthony Crowley and Aziraphale Fell

There were usually three ways Crowley felt about things.  
He hated a lot of things. Like annoying people. Fake plants. Spotify-advertisements. He also hated mice, shampoos that did absolutely nothing to his hair and P.E. class in general.  
Then there were the things he loved. Or liked. Or felt a tiny bit of sympathy for. Queen. Uncomfortably tight jeans and wearing sunglasses with no reason (it’s a fact that wearing sunglasses only means pure joy if you wear them a., on a particularly dark day, b., in a building.) He also liked skinny black cats that walked to the streets out of nowhere, eyeliners, long-lasting black nail polish and any kind of alcohol.  
With the other things, he was fine with, which in Crowley’s Dictionary meant he didn’t give a fuck about the existence of them. This system worked perfectly since he was born.  
Until he met Aziraphale.  
“That’s ridiculous” he grumbled to himself as he kicked into a bunch of gravel.  
It was, indeed. Because Crowley couldn’t get him out of his head. He made several lists in his head, some of them talked about the physical appearance and behaviour of Aziraphale with such attention to details that everyone thought they have known each other since the beginning of time.  
First Aziraphale looked utterly pure. Innocent. Fucking adorable (the last thing was something that Crowley didn’t really dare to say in front of his own mind). With his blonde hair, impossibly light skin, baby blue eyes and flushed cheeks, he looked angelic. And he smelled like peach.  
“Oh fuck, fuck, fucking fuuuuuck” Crowley shouted. That was the worst of all.  
Crowley only kissed Aziraphale only once, in a spin-the-bottle game (which Aziraphale knew nothing about). That is simply not fair. Crowley has kissed plenty of people on all kinds of occasions and still none of those memories stuck in his head as much as this one. The softness of his lips, how Aziraphale grasped into his shirt like his life depended on it, the way he tilted his head, the way he melted into his touch and moaned unto his mouth shamelessly…  
No. This needs a stop.  
Still, Crowley couldn’t stop fantasizing about Aziraphale.  
The thing that made him come back to Earth was a tartan jumper which he bumped into. A tartan jumper which slightly smelled like peach and a blonde-haired head belonged to it.  
Holy. Shit.  
“Azziraphalllle…. uhm, what are you doing here?” Crowley asked as casually as he could, while he was wondering about spontaneous disappearing.  
“Uhm, it’s a bus stop” Aziraphale answered.  
“Yeah, really. Hm”  
“Pardon?”  
“No, I just, like, hummed. Like, yeah. Hummed. It’s a pretty good thing.” Luckily , the bus arrived, perfectly in time before Crowley started planning a spontaneous human combustion instead of disappearance.  
****  
“You really should stop this, Janthony” Anathema said. This was in lunchbreak: another thing that Crowley enjoyed before, but now he couldn’t, because an Aziraphale-shaped cloud seemed to occupy his mind.  
‘I don’t know what’s the fucking problem with me.”  
“Then you are either blind or idiot, or more likely, both. You’re in love, that’s obvious.  
Oh, no. He certainly wasn’t. In Crowley’s Dictionary, being in love was a very cute and quite enjoyable thing to do. But that, well it was rather annoying.  
“Let’s just say, hypothetically, I’m in love.”  
“Hypothetically” Anathema said in the most sarcastic way possible.  
“Yeah, absolutely. Then what should I do?”  
“I suppose” Anathema leaned closer, speaking in a lower tone. “Go on a date with him. Get to know him. Maybe he’s not even half hot as you see him now.”  
“I don’t sssse him hot.” Crowley always hissed when he was angry or annoyed, even if only a little bit.  
“Yeah, of course you don’t.”  
Even though it seemed ridiculous, it was something what worth to think about. Like a date cost nothing to. And Crowley would have done anything just to get Aziraphale out of his mind. At this point Crowley thought he already got a throne in the red-haired boy’s head.  
“Anathema.”  
“Yeah?”  
“I need a plan.”  
Anathema sighed satisfied. Quite honestly, she loved making pans; she had a good talent on guessing the future. That’s the reason why he always won every strategical game they played together. It was a family thing, she guessed.  
“I’ll call it the Ineffable Plan. It’s pretty simple, actually.”  
“Then why would you call it like that?” Crowley asked annoyedly. As much of a drama queen he personally was, he didn’t really recognise that other people liked a good drama sometimes. In fact, he thought it was his job and pleasure to be dramatic – and other to at least get used to it.  
“Nevermind. The only thing you have to do is taking him to a date. Asking him out, then preferably picking him up at his place and going to nice café shop.” Anathema said.  
“That’s all? You don’t s’posed to have big rose bouquets? Love triangles? Kissing in the rain? Surprisingly good musical performance just to confess love? A random nightingale singing?”  
“No. Except the last one. But I suppose you aren’t angels and you’re not planning to go to the Ritz.”  
“That would be fancy.” (Oh yes, another thing about Crowley’s List ‘Bout Things He Liked: being fancy in general.)  
“According to the fact that you’re teenagers, maybe a little too fancy. Come on, Janthony, it’s not that hard. Just with a little more socializing and a little less rom-coms you can be a normal human being too!”  
“Not sure. By the way, you know that I much more likely to be a demon, not an angel.”  
Anathema just rolled her eyes. 

After biology class, time has come for Crowley to ask Aziraphale out. First, he had to find him. That wasn’t quite hard. To be honest, it was a little bit too easy because Crowley didn’t really plan how to ask him out. So, he ended up standing in front of Aziraphale, nervously looking up and down like he was searching for something. (He was. His bravery.)  
His sudden incapability of speaking was because of the unplannedness, he thought, but it was also because of Aziraphale himself.  
Do you know that feeling when you are dreaming so much about a person that when you get face-to-face with them, you become a shocked, embarrassed creature which is way too similar to deer in spotlight? Well, that was what Crowley felt at that moment.  
“Hi, Crowley!” Aziraphale said cheerily, while putting books to his backpack (1). ‘How are you?”  
“Am fine. And you?”  
“Good, really. Great. Nice. Absolutely tickety-boo.” Was the blonde boy also nervous? That thought made Crowley nervous somehow happy, amused and a little flustered.  
“I am, uhm, I’m actually here to ask you that would you like to, uhm, like drink coffee?” Crowley felt happy. Well, according to his calculations, the worst was all done.  
“I like tea, but yeah, I think” Aziraphale nervously fumbled into his blonde locks. “When exactly?”  
“Dunno, when is it good for you? For me it’s good at any time. Like really, whenever you want.” Crowley started to realise that his calculations were too optimistic.  
Not because he didn’t ask anyone out before. Oh no, he certainly did It a couple of times, and he had to admit, they went well. They usually met at a nice bar or a cinema, and at least 75% of the events ended up with sex. But with Aziraphale, it was different. He was different, with his blonde hair, his bright smile, his bookwormness. Everything about Aziraphale was different from any kind of people Crowley had any kind of relationship with and that seemed weird enough to reduce Crowley into an awkward schoolboy who hasn’t even held hands with somebody and exciting enough to make his mind foggy. It was a weird combination, we got to admit.  
“On Friday night maybe? I think it’s good for me. Oh, and I know a very pretty café, can we go there? Like, if that’s not a problem.” Aziraphale answered excitedly, still smiling adorably.  
“Sure, if you want ang- Aziraphale” Crowley had to swallow back a little pathetic sound which sounded like a combination of a cough, a laugh and a groan of desperation, because, after all, he almost called him angel. “I can pick you up. Just write down your address.”  
“Uhm, I don’t think my parents would be happy about it. They’re rather strict, so we could meet there. I think I will send you, the uhm, address of the place”  
“As it’s good for you. Uhm, I have to go, ‘cause I have drama, uhm, classes. Ciao!”  
And nobody could see, that at the moment when they were far away from each other not to be seen a blond, slightly chubby boy in a beige jumper started jumping and fisting into the air. 

****  
Aziraphale didn’t have a crush on a lot of people.  
A few celebrities, a couple of his classmates and that was all. And, then Crowley. He was different. Aziraphale had a crush on him, since he arrived, and the feeling only grew when Crowley kissed the blond-haired boy (after all, it was his first kiss). He found everything about Crowley unbelievably attractive; his long, red hair, his tattoos (Aziraphale knew that he haven’t seen all of them (yet, he hoped) but the ones that sometimes peeked from under the redhead’s shirt was enough to choke on his tea whenever he was able to notice them. He liked his sunglasses, his usual laid-backness, even the way Crowley was walking: like a snake who still didn’t develop a good relationship with human legs. Overall, Aziraphale was pretty much in love with him.  
“Are you listening?” Newt asked, when he was about the ask the same question about Shakespeare’s love life for like the fourth time from Aziraphale. “What’s the matter with you? Usually, you’re the most eager by far?”  
“It’s nothing really… I mean, I’m fine. Tickety-boo. What would happened to me?”  
“You could be possessed by a demon. Or an alien. I’ve seen it quite a lot” a young boy from the Literary Club, where Aziraphale was spending time right at the moment said.  
“Yeah, you’ve always been a weirdo” the friend of the young boy mentioned. That wasn’t true. Aziraphale was not a weirdo. Yes, he did a couple of thing that would cause people be labelled as a “weirdo”, but that didn’t make him one. He was rather… rather a very nice, bookish, churchy guy. Yes, exactly. With quite an obsession of bowties, tea and Oscar Wilde.  
“No, I’m just, uhm, distracted” Aziraphale answered.  
“Because of what?” the question came from the young boy again. Aziraphale believed he was called Adam; however, he has never heard his name. He just looked like an Adam, if that’s even possible.  
“Because of nothing. Just casually distracted. Would you mind if I would leave a little earlier?”  
But it was rather a question of politeness, since he was already half outside.  
The only problem was that Aziraphale had absolutely no idea what to do on a date. He had read about it, of course, but it confused him, because all dates he’s read about were different. And even if they had some similarities, he wasn’t sure he should believe to them. For example, do all dates end up with kissing in the rain.? Azi checked the weather on his phone and it said I’ll be particularly dry and warm on Friday night, so he hoped they don’t.  
They fixed to meet at 7 pm at the café that’s name Aziraphale sent earlier. It was called “The Apple Tree” which was quite a weird name for a café but whatever. Since Aziraphale arrived a little earlier he had some time to look around on the street. It was a small, rather hidden street with lots of interesting shops. As he was wandering up and down, looking lovingly at all the small dogs that came across, he felt something bumping into his back. Or more like, someone. As it turned out, it was his own brother, his own, extremely-sporty, extremely-popular, extremely-mean, stuck-up brother Gabriel. It’s not that Aziraphale had a bad relationship with him; he could hardly have a bad relationship with anyone in thus universe since he was pretty much of an angel. Having bad relationships was more likely one of Gabriel’s tasks.  
“What are you doing here, Zir?” he asked.  
“Nothing, just uhm… just looking around. I haven’t been here a lot of times, and it seemed to be a really lovely place. So I decided to go for a walk.”  
“At 7 am?” Gabriel asked suspiciously.  
“Uhm, well, yeah, why not.”  
“Fully dressed and… Zir don’t say your wearing a fucking bowtie.”  
“I do! They’re very, uhm, elegant. And may I ask not to call me Zir?”  
Gabriel just shrugged. “Really, what are you doing?”  
“I would like to kindly remind you that it is none of your business.”  
Another shrug from Gabriel, then he walked away, slowly getting lost from Aziraphale’s eyes. He didn’t mind, not even the slightest. Azi still had more than ten minutes till 7, so he continue wandering up and down on the streets, though he couldn’t not think of Gabrie’s appearance. Of course, there was nothing strange in his brother walking on the streets, the rather unsual thing was that he was alone.  
There were only five minutes left till 7 pm when Aziraphale got back at the café.  
***  
Meanwhile, Crowley was assiduously well, freaking the fuck out. For him it meant banging his head into the wall and drinking by turns. How could he be such a foolish idiot? At that time, asking out Aziraphale was the worst thing he could ever imagine on this planet. Of course, he wanted to date with him, so badly that he felt hot and dizzy (maybe that was because of the alcohol, but we’ll never know that), but he knew he just shouldn’t. Aziraphale probably only wants a nice chat and a cup of coffee and to be friends with him, and Crowley knew that would break him into small, black pieces of glass. Or maybe the blond boy would have wanted more than a friendship, Crowley didn’t feel enough, didn’t feel like he worth it, he deserved it. Aziraphale was so much more than him, so much better than he could ever be. He was pure and beautiful and clever and kind for no particular reason.  
That feeling hurt, like nothing before and Crowley took another sip from his drink.  
***  
It was 7:15 and Aziraphale started worrying.  
What if he couldn’t come?  
He had a couple good reasons for that.  
Had to visit one of his relatives very suddenly and quickly. Something happened to his car. The eyeliner accidently went into his eyes so he had to rush to the emergency. (Aziraphale has seen it once on YouTube by an accident at it was truly terrifying.) His dog died. He got kidnaped by aliens. There were ebdles reasonable possibilities why Crowley was late.  
***  
Crwoley was loosening his tie and poured another glass.  
Or maybe he didn’t even like him.  
Why would he, to be honest? Crowley has never been quite a likable person. He had some (okay, baasically one) good friend but beside that he didn’t really speak to anyone. After school, he usually went home to do his stuff (which meant watching an impressive amount of films and series, acting like his favourite characters and doing his secret favourite thing: watching fashion and lifestyle videos), while Aziraphale went to after school-activites , surely with his many friends. For such an adorable, warm-hearted boy as Aziraphale, Crowley couldn’t imagine anything but a large group of friends.  
They had nothing in common whatsoever.  
***  
The rain started pouring, so Aziraphale had to be as close to the wall as he could, still, he started feeling his white-blond hair getting wetter and his clothes being colder.  
Or maybe he didn’t wanna come.  
That was the most logical (and the most horrible) reason why Crowley still didn’t come despite the time was 7:45. Aziraphale didn’t think the whole idea was a joke. No he thought Crowley just changed his mind but forgot to mention it. After all, why would he like him? He was neither interesting nor handsome, a chubby little dweeb who got way too excited by the things he liked but was too shy to properly interact with people. There was nothing on him which Crowley could find attractive, he had weird dresses and was too naïve and too nice with people – even with people who he knew will tell awful, evil things to him.  
***  
The clock that was at the living room ticked eight.  
Crowley painfully groaned, drank out the last drop of his drink then fell into the couch with his head forward.  
***  
Aziraphale was really soaking up.  
He won’t come.  
***  
The ringtone of his phone was what woke Crowley up. He grumbled, slowly raising his head up and stretching towards his cellphone while concentrating hardly on the very difficult task of not throwing up. He slid his thumb across the phone which caused a lively Anathema yelling at his ear.  
“How was the date, Janthony?”  
Crowley’s eyes widened with terror. Oh no, no no no. Memories started floating at his mind; him dressing up and trying out seven different hairstyles, him panicking, him pouring an other glass of drink, and finally him, not going to the date, betraying Aziraphale, that pure, beautiful, flawless creature. A choked sound escaped from his throat which was like a combination of a hiccup and a sob. If we would like to be poetical it was Crowley’s sound of Absolute Dreadful Desperation, a sound that he never thought he’d make. He was such an idiot, not only because he missed the chance of going to a date with the person he was helplessly in love with (he finally had the balls, to confess it to himself) but also let the blond-haired boy wait for him for God knows how much time.  
“Janthony, are you alright?” Anathema asked, but he only got another low, painful whine.  
***  
In the next four days, Aziraphale doesn’t get out of his bedroom.  
At first Gabriel tried to talk with him. Or more like, tell him that he knew he souldn’t have met with that “weird red-haired boy”.  
“Did you… did you knew that I’ll meet with him?”  
‘Yes, that’s why I was here, to tell you that you shouldn’t meet with him. He’s one of the weird guys, who are hanging out in the park getting high a friends with him, right?”. It’d be a shame to meet for you (and even for all of us) if you’d be  
That was the exact moment when Aziraphale, despite being always the kindest and nicest creature of all, shouted at his brother and flung back to his bed, gripping his favourite pillow (2). Since then, he hadn’t spoken to anyone.  
He ate a few times. It seemed like the only one who cared about him was their cook; she put a plate in front of his door packed with things he liked the most. Beside eating (and sleeping, and going to the bathroom) he didn’t do a lot of things. The only thing he could think of was why Crowley didn’t come to the date, and in Aziraphale’s mind there was just one reason: he didn’t like him, he never did, never will do. He already created a small list of why he would hve found him unatracctive and this list only kept getting longer and longer.  
Beside the way he looked (Airaphale was never realy confident about his body and this feeling grew a lot during these days) there was the things he liked and found interesting; know he thought they were lame and he should probably get interested in more popular things, such as football or basketball or acting. The other thing that in his opinion, Crowley could feel rather awkward was Aziraphale’s enthusiasm: he was overly enthusiastic for anything he liked: the food he was enjoying at the moment, fashion of the old times but mostly: his books. He could talk about any single soul at any time endlessly and with an emotion what can’t be describe as nothing, but absolute passion and adoration.  
And even though he knew that could seem rather embarrassing or boring for others, he still didn’t stop it. It was so built to his character that it seemed like Aziraphale couldn’t exist without these things.  
***  
“I’m such an idiot, a coward and I fucked up everything!” Anathema and Crowley had nearly twenty similar conversations which were about Crowley talking shit about himself and Anathema nodding and being completely helpless about cheering up (or at least calming down) his friend. It only got worse when he found out Aziraphale didn’t go to school: it was a thing that Crowley missed such a chance but it was completely another, a much more horrible, painful thing that he harmed the blond boy, and that was more than unbearable.  
Crowley has been walking like a zombie every day at school for two days straight for now. His eyes where red from being unable to seep. He usually didn’t do anything just sat down and thought about how could he fuck it up like that? He wanted to make it better. He didn’t dream that Aziraphale might want to get to know him again but he wanted to see Aziraphale as happy and cheery as he was before. Or at least, see him.  
ű “Look, Janthony, I know you messed it up, but like… it’s not completely lost.” Anathema said, after he got bored of his best friend being a depressed wreck (also, she was worried about him, but she would never confess it).  
“It isn’t?”  
“No it’s.. you remember those scenes where it seems like the main characters will never be together but one of them does something and finally they’ll get to know that it was all a misunderstanding and stuff comes?”  
Crowley knew. It was always his favourite scenes.  
But something, a little light bulb, a small shine of hope lit up in his head. He saw those scenes, he loved the, he always thought of doing them and now…  
“Anathema, you’re a fucking genius!”  
“It’s a fact known worldwide, but what made you notice?”  
But she didn’t get an answer since Crowley was already out the door.  
***  
If anyone would be interested, Crowley’s plan was to give a serenade. Yeah, a real serenade. The only problem with it (or maybe not the only, but definitely the biggest of all problems) was that Crowley couldn’t sing. He was talented in many things, such as acting, drawing and doing make up flawlessly but he was an absolute terrible singer. So his plan with him singing a lovely little apologize-song to Aziraphale quickly shortened into one where Crowley was standing under Aziraphale’s window (God knows where he got his address), throwing pebbles and shouting “Aziraphale!” and “Angel!” alternatively.  
Aziraphale slowly let go his pillow and rose from the bed. He put on his eyeglasses, while walking towards the window.  
“Is that you, Crowley?”  
“Yes. Aziraphale? I just wanna tell you that…”  
“Please, wait a minute” Aziraphale shouted back, quickly closing the window, and putting on the nearest sweater.  
“Now, you can say it.”  
“Angel, I just want to tell you that” Crowley fumbled into his hair with his hand. “That I was such an idiot, and I’m sorry. Really sorry. I never meant you hurt you, I’m just…” Crowley seemed to stuck in the middle of his confession, looking awkwardly at Aziraphale to for fuck’s sake just say something. And luckily, he did.  
“Why are you calling me an angel?” Aziraphale asked. He noticed it at the first time, but still didn’t get it.  
“That’s the whole point, because you are an angel! You are clever, and funny, and hot, and kind and sweet and everything and I felt like, I felt like wouldn’t deserve you, you wouldn’t like me, you… I was such an idiot, I even wanted to sing a song, but I can’ sing so i got here out of nowhere throwing stones and I know that’s creepy but didn’t see you at school at I panicked...” oh indeed, he did. But at least, he could speak. “I just don’t want you to be mad at me, because I really like you, no, fuck, I love you Aziraphale…” Carpe diem, Crowley  
“I’m not mad” Aziraphale said. “I never could be. I must admit, I’ve had a crush on you since I first met you. I dropped my books and you helped me, and It was the sweetest gesture, never anybody else… I really think I’ve fallen in love with you, Crowley.”  
Oh, well, Crowley didn’t expect this. He was ready for a lot of things, for shouting, for tears, for drama, begging, for a very hurt Aziraphale who will never speak to him again, but this. This was a surprise.  
“So, we… we’ve been in love with each others for the whole time, but we couldn’t fucking tell it?  
“I suppose yes” Aziraphale nodded, nervously playing with the sleeve of his sweater.  
“We are the biggest idiots in the world, angel!” Crowley bent his head back, and laughed.  
“I suppose we are… Crowley?”  
“Yes?”  
“Uhm, would you like to o with me on a date? I mean, I still haven’t tried out that café”  
Crowley nodded, grinning.  
“I would love to. Should I pick you up?”  
“No, I think it’d be the best if I ‘d go to your house.”  
Crowley let out an other laugh, while hugging Aziraphale with his left arm.  
***  
There were no rose bougets. No musical performances. No rain-kisses. However, there was a nightingale singing, when they went past the Berkeley Square. It started singing from Crowley phone, when he kissed his boyfriend the tenth time that evening.  
After all, he loved a good drama.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated <3


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